


A Little Attempt

by ShyOwl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Divergent, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, John is a Saint, M/M, Protective Sherlock, Romance, Sexual Content, Sherlock is an idiot, Trying Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyOwl/pseuds/ShyOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has come to terms he will always be second. Sherlock tries his best to prove him wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Overlooked Issue

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: I like possessive/dominant Sherlock. He’ll rear his head throughout a lot of work I do. I think John goes through enough that he deserves that sort of attention on him. So be prepared for (perhaps) OOC-Sherlock.
> 
> I do not own Sherlock. It is owned by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC netword, Moffat/Gatiss.
> 
> Full Summary: John has come to terms he will always be second. Sherlock tries his best to prove him wrong. 
> 
> John will never be the most important to Sherlock and he has come to terms with this fact. As proof and in his way of caring, he leaves Sherlock out as his primary caregiver should the worst ever happen so as the Work is not affected. Sherlock finds out and with a battered pride does he best to show he does care.

_You may wish to discuss your relationship with your dear doctor, brother._  
\--MH

Sherlock scowled at the text.

 _I don’t believe I need to do anything. Go back to world domination._  
\--SH

He didn’t bother to let his phone flop back to his stomach. His brother was prompt with texts (unless he was simply being a prick—which was often). But he started a conversation and Mycroft would see it through till he had Sherlock withering in disgust and, even worse, confusion.

 _I am simply tending to the world, not dominating it. Please do keep up with your vocabulary and what certain terms mean._  
\--MH

Sherlock held up his middle finger to where he was positive one of Mycroft’s bugs was located.

 _Such sweetness from a darling child. Best be careful I don’t take a picture and use it as a Christmas card for mummy._  
\--MH

Sherlock smirked. He was a man who used sophistication and refinement to beat people down. But he was not above being a vulgar brat when wanted to be. And he usually wanted to be when it concerned Mycroft.

 _And back to the conversation at hand. You should talk to your doctor._  
\--MH

Sherlock sneered. Of course he wouldn’t drop it. 

He and John did not need help. They don’t need to talk. Things were going very well. They went on cases together. Ate together. Slept together. Kissed. Cuddled. All that romantic nonsense that seemed to be required when in a relationship.

From Sherlock’s standpoint, he was being a perfect (if not overly generous) partner towards John. He even held himself back from pointing out John’s need to quit his boring job from three times a week to one.

He was a saint and things were going well because of it.

 _I see you really aren’t aware. Kudos to John for sneaking it past you._  
\--MH

Now that had Sherlock’s attention.

 _What are you blabbering on about?_  
\--SH

_Ah, I see. What I am “blabbering” on about is a change in John’s testament._  
\--MH

__

Sherlock scowled, feeling a bit at ease that this had nothing to do with a woman or a man—though Sherlock knew he had ruined John for anyone else. Because, really, how could the sweet man ever go back to ordinary, boring people? 

But his testament? As in his will? This was very new to Sherlock.

 _Mycroft, stop playing a fat Confucius and tell me what this is about._  
\--SH

_What this is about is how a week ago John changed you as his primary caregiver to someone else._  
\--MH

__

Sherlock froze. 

He blinked his pretty eyes at the screen as if he couldn’t compute what he was reading.

 _What this means, in case you deleted the term, is that should anything happen to John you will have no power over his care._  
\--MH

 _I know what it means, you fat pig._  
\--SH

Sherlock was tempted to put “fat pig” in all caps and have a few exclamation points following but decided it would look too juvenile. Besides, he wanted to scream not look like a pre-teen twat whining about not getting a Gameboy or whatever it is kids were playing with.

He chewed at his lip.

Sherlock had no clue John had done this. There had been no indication. 

_Then you know that you should probably discuss things with him. As I said so from the start._  
\--MH

 _Do let me know when things are settled. Mummy wants John over for holidays. Please don’t mess things over by being your ever-pleasant self._  
\--MH

Sherlock threw the phone away and curled up on the couch to sulk and think.

_'John changed it? When? Think…think…Mycroft knew and the fat lard is not one to keep secrets about me to himself for long. No more than a week and a half then. John did it after work. Last Wednesday. He was late by four hours.'_

Sherlock kicked himself that he had assumed Mycroft had kidnapped John again. John just had a thick, unpleasant smell of government so it was an easy assumption to believe it had been Mycroft. 

Changed it. Why? Why? 

He turned on his back, his fingers pressed to his lips, and his eyes closed. He went over as much of John’s movements the pass two months and tried to locate the moment where he made such a decision.

But every twitch, frown, or outburst of anger didn’t have a plausible connection to this action.

John had remained so typically, beautifully normal for weeks.

“Oh? You have another case?”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and he looked over to see the man in question enter in through the door, a friendly smile on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. Shouldn’t interrupt the mind-palace.” He held up his hands in surrender before he removed his coat, shaking off any remaining snow from his hair.

He made his way through the living room, clearly going to make his after-work-tea to warm himself up.

Sherlock was not going to allow any comfort like that happen.

“You changed it. You made it that I’m not you’re caregiver.” Sherlock accused, glaring at the doctor.

John blinked a moment, trying to process the attack, before he sighed. “Mycroft. I was wondering if he was going to bother to tell you.” He shook his head as if amused and then continued on his routine as if nothing were the matter. “Tea?”

“Tea? You’re asking if--” Sherlock had to stop himself from asking the obvious. Repeating was so John. Sherlock did not repeat. “No. I do not want tea. I want to know why.”

John tilted his head. “It’s obvious, right?”

“If it were obvious, John, I wouldn’t be asking.”

“Well, more like demanding, but alright.” The ash-blonde smiled but it fell seeing Sherlock’s glare. “It’s for the Work, of course.”

Sherlock blinked.

“What?”

“The Work. Your Work. All of this.” John motioned to their sitting room that was filled with maps, case-files, pictures of corpses and suspects, and a mess of other random items.

“I…” Sherlock licked his lips. He hated the taste of the next words. “I’m afraid I fail to understand.”

It was throwing him off. John was the emotional one. John was the one who cried over an animated dear losing its mother. John was the one who thought the words “be careful” actually mattered. John was the one who would grow angry over menial boring things like coagulated blood in the ice-cube tray.

And yet John was just looking at him, calmly, while Sherlock was the one practically biting at the air in frustration.

“Well,” John shrugged. “It’s just…I think it would be better if I go into a rehabilitation center or something if something did happen to me.”

“A what ?” Sherlock croaked out. 

His John in some sort of clinical, stale housing unit filled with pathetic vegetables?

“Well, I certainly won’t go to Harry’s.” John smiled, finding a joke in the situation again.

“Of course you won’t.” Sherlock hissed. John was not allowed anywhere near his sister. Not after the selfish stunt she pulled six months ago when she had a meltdown at John’s birthday party and screamed at the man in a drunken rage “a worthless waste of skin” (among other far more vulgar insults).

Sherlock threw her out. 

He would’ve done more if John hadn’t pleaded with him to just leave her be. 

And forgiving John tried to check-up on her a few weeks later. Only to come across her in yet another drunken fit and receive more repeated words from their father. Sherlock made sure to remove and block Harry’s number from ever passing either of their cell’s screens again.

So of course that vile woman would never touch his John, injured or not.

“This is stupidity John. You would stay here if you were injured.”

Now John looked a little uncomfortable.

_'Didn’t predict I would react this way. He’s holding his hands across…WRONG…he’s gripping the wound. WRONG. He’s touching the wound. Subtle. Is it bothering him? WRONG. He’s applying no pressure. No grip. Just a slight touch. A confirmation? A memory? RIGHT. Shifting his feet. Right to left…left to right. Staying on right. Pain returning. Emotional connection to reason. Reason connected to wound from last case. RIGHT.'_

“A-Alright, alright. Stop deducing me.” John walked away from the kitchen and took his seat. “Look, Sherlock, the reason I am doing this is for the Work. After the last case I thought it would make sense if I did this.”

“You’ve had worse injuries. This one shouldn’t be a bother.”

“No…it’s…” John licked his lips. He hadn’t expected he would need to explain this. “Yes, last case wasn’t that bad. But the guy stabbed my back with a piece of wood.”

“Yes. Very aware of your injuries. Not my question.” 

“Just give me a moment.” John sighed, closing his eyes. “It wasn’t that bad. Painful, yes, but not terrible. However, I haven’t had an injury so close to my spine before. As I lay in the street, trying not to panic, to tell myself my spine was untouched and he had missed it…it just got me thinking. In this line of work, what with the stabbing, shooting, and possibly falling off buildings, what if something does happen to me that leaves me unable to function right? What if he had nicked me in just the right way and I could never walk again?”

Sherlock scowled. He wasn’t there when these thoughts had gone through his partner’s head. The detective had taken off after the running suspect.

“We would figure it out afterwards. Why be so paranoid about it now?” Sherlock grunted, slouching back into the couch. “And why does this mean you have to remove yourself from my care?”

“Because,” John licked his lips again, his left hand started to tremble a bit. “You won’t take care of me.”

The room grew cold.

“I see.” Sherlock stood up, giving John a crippling stare.

“No, Sherlock don’t. You don’t see.” John begged, getting up to follow after him.

“I don’t see?” Sherlock’s voice rumbled. “You of all people will tell me I don’t see the truth of this situation? I see very well. I see that you don’t trust me. Your wince right there is proof enough. I see that you wanted to hide this from me. Perhaps I’m still a machine in your eyes, incapable of giving you any form of love.” He sneered, “you’ve feared that on numerous occasions.”

“That’s not fair, Sherlock. You and I have talked about that already and we’ve settled it and moved on.” John pleaded, though his tone had a steely warning to it. His own infamous temper was starting to rumble under the unassuming jumper.

“It seems I have moved on from it. You, on the other hand, haven’t. Why else would you do this?” Something in the detective shuddered, almost like a sob, at the thought. “Finally had enough of being the normal one in the relationship and needing to move on?”

“Sherlock!” John snapped: horrified, hurt, and angry. “Clearly someone else here has trust issues if you’re going to accuse me of that nonsense!”

“Hard to call it nonsense when I’m witnessing evidence to the case before me.” The tall man growled and pushed past the smaller one, ready to slam his door shut and play the violin for at least twelve hours straight, keeping the doctor up and miserable. He could sleep on the couch or on the floor or out in the streets for all Sherlock cared. Let his miserable back ache. Sherlock did not care.

“Now hold on there! I said the reason I’m doing this is for the Work, remember? Not about my trust on you. Remember? I gave up lying to you a good long while ago.” John pulled at Sherlock’s arm and glared, not about to let him go. “Now just listen.”

“There is nothing to say.”

“Ugh, you self-absorbed gremlin!” John threw one hand up, knowing better than to let Sherlock go until he got his attention. “We need to talk about this. I deserve to defend myself and tell you the real reason for this. And it’s not because I want to leave you or anything remotely like that. I do love you after all.”

Sherlock continued to give his iciest glare to the shorter man. It was neither an agreement nor argument but he did stop his attempt to escape and have a tantrum. For now at least.

“Right…do you want to sit down for this?” He just received another glare for his little bit of kindness. “Ok, ok. Right.” John inhaled and exhaled three times to get himself back under control. “Sherlock, it’s not that you wouldn’t try, I know you would try your hardest if something that bad happened to me. But I’m not the most important thing to you. I would just get in the way of everything and make it difficult--”

“What do you mean?”

“Huh?”

“Stop being stupid.” Sherlock hissed, his temper growing again. “You said you’re not the most important thing to me. How could you say such a thing?”

“Uhm…because I’m not?” John was growing confused again. “You’ve told me so yourself twice and have shown it to me multiple times.”

“I… __what __?” The tall detective couldn’t believe the stupidity of this man!

“When we first met you said you were married to your Work. When this relationship started to show signs of happening, you said that the Work came first.”

“I…I…” He remembered those two conversations vividly now. Of course John would remember those words as well. And of course sweet, usually obtuse John would remember them and take them to heart. 

“And many times, like this last case, you left me behind to go and solve everything.” 

_'He’s growing angry. He’s remembering many instances. At least ten. WRONG. Twenty now. Possibly more. His mouth is pulling down. He wants to yell. RIGHT. He wants to cry. He’s holding it back. Squaring his shoulders, pulling out his soldier moves to hide and control his emotions. Wants to talk about things calmly. RIGHT. He’s trying not to remember the Fall. Nose is growing wet. Failed then. Adjusting his position. Pinching his right wrist hard. Using pain to control himself. Has come to a decision. Stubborn brow lowering. Struggling but holding on.'_

“I wouldn’t ask you to look after me. I know you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. A case would come and you would have to take it. Because the Work is everything to you. You would leave and I would just be here.” He motioned to 221B. “It feels like I would get in the way.”

Sherlock tightened his lips till they were white. 

It wasn’t true. Yes, the Work was important, but he wouldn’t leave an injured (not paralyzed, nothing that bad would ever happen to John—never) alone. Of course he wouldn’t. It was already determined that he was the saint in this relationship.

“Look, it doesn’t make you a bad boyfriend. It doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re out there saving lives. But if something happened to me…it would get in the way of you saving those lives.”

‘Shit.’ Sherlock hissed internally. His John truly believed that.

“So it would be better if I were to heal or remain at a center if it comes to that. There wouldn’t be any trouble, we could still see each other, and the Work wouldn’t be touched.”

_'He finds himself the mistress to the wife. He doesn’t see much self-worth in the Work or myself. Believes this is the best path for me. He thinks he’s doing the best for me. It’s all for me.'_

Sherlock shook his head in denial. 

“No. You will go and change it back now. I’m your partner. I’m the only one who touches and takes care of you.”

John gave him a humored look. “You can’t take the best of care with yourself, love.”

“I can,” Sherlock hissed. He wanted to stomp his feet and throw stuff. Perhaps take John’s gun and make new holes in the wall. That typically got things to go his way. “I just choose not to. I can do anything. You’ve told me this multiple times.”

Now the ash-blond frowned, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I should be placed in another location to heal. You wouldn’t have to put any concentration on my healing.”

“I want to help you heal!” Sherlock tried, desperately now, to reach some sense in John. It made him physically ill; his hands were already trembling, at the idea of his John alone to heal. John was the strongest man Sherlock knew. John could handle most anything thrown at him. John was a steel wall of amazing stubbornness and gentle strength. But John could not handle silent boredom and loneliness.

He’s seen, twice, what those things did to his strong soldier. He will not see it again.

“I know you want to. I do.” John smiled, looking very touched as if just the thought of Sherlock of simply wanting to was enough for him. “But I don’t think it should happen. There are too many risks involved.” He straightened up his shoulders. “If you want me here, I could always have it that I remain at 221b and get a nursemaid or something.”

“NO.” Sherlock finally did stomp his foot. He was a very possessive and territorial man. He did not like people besides a very highly selected few (chosen by him of course) in his home. A stranger coming in to his domain and caring for his John was simply unacceptable.

John rubbed his head. He was doing his best to be patient and come to a compromise but his boyfriend was in a mood and when he was in a mood it was impossible to reach him.

“What do you want to do?”

“I already told you. Do listen John, I loathe to repeat myself.” Sherlock grumped.

“And I already told you why I don’t think it should happen.”

“Then I should take you off as my caregiver.” Sherlock retorted childishly. Two could play it this game.

“Mycroft won’t allow it.” 

“I-It’s none of his business!” Sherlock hissed. “And I should. If that’s what you’re doing, I should do the same. I have no reason to believe you would take care of me.”

John’s brow tilted and he gave Sherlock an amused smirk, “that has to be the worst lie you have ever tried out.”

Sherlock had to blush. Even he had to admit it was a pathetic outburst. John took care of him 24/7 with rarely any real complaints. Oh he nagged, but Sherlock long ago discovered the difference between loving nagging and exasperated complaining.

“Still,” he was not about to give up. “It makes sense. If you remove me as your caregiver, I will do the same.”

“Mycroft __won’t allow it.” John pressed again. “And neither will I.”

“And I won’t allow you to do this nonsense.” Sherlock bared his teeth at the shorter man, about to use intimidation to get his way. “Besides,” he moved away from John to sit at the couch again. “You have an addiction to danger. Tending to me, well, that would make you quite restless wouldn’t it?”

John frowned, “it’s not the same Sherlock.”

“You need the Work as much as I do. You desire the danger and rush of it. Where is my guarantee you wouldn’t run out at a call to just hit up that rush?”

“Because I love, and am addicted, to you more than the Work.” John countered.

Sherlock frowned at him. Whenever John said those words it always sent a tingling sensation throughout his chest and down to his stomach. “So,” he sneered, covering up the internal mess, “you would drop it all for me.”

He blinked, “of course I would. I need you more than I need the Work.”

Sherlock felt that same bubbling rage grow again. “And you think I need the Work more than I need you.”

“Yes.”

The tall man shot up to his feet, “that is not true!”

“Sherlock, please…I’m fine with it. I’ve accepted it. The Work saved you more than I ever could. It stops this,” he reached over and gently touched the detective’s head, “from spiraling out of control and hurting you. It was there for you when I couldn’t be.” 

Sherlock flinched seeing John’s big eyes water ever so slightly. Those two years haunted them both.

“It’s your everything. I get that. I’m happy that you have it in your life and that it can do all of this. That is why I can’t let you take care of me. Your whole self would rot down to a painful shell without it. It wouldn’t do that to me. Living without you, however, would.”

Sherlock looked away, his nails scraping at the skin of his palm. It was rare to have such anger rise within him. And that same anger aimed at John. 

Those words hurt. They cut into this bones and made everything internal organ shift uncomfortably. His arms tingled and his back itched. The ever-useful mind was swirling like a hurricane and it was difficult to settle it down. This little speech would haunt Sherlock for a very, very long time.

_'This isn’t right. I didn’t do this. It’s not my doing. I’ve been perfect, haven’t I? I studied up on relationships and cut out the unnecessary fluff. John and I don’t need that.'_

He licked his lips and felt himself starting to panic.

_'No, no. Don’t do that. This is nothing that warrants any form of sentiment. Use logic. John has clearly misread my intentions and feelings. He simply requires proof. He only sees and never observes. I need to make him understand.'_

He inhaled and exhaled and then stared at the silent John.

“I will not accept this. But words of reason are not reaching you.” At this the blond man rolled his eyes. Sherlock chose to ignore it. “So I will show you. I am the best for you and I will take care of you.”

Now John blinked, “you want to…take care of me? As a way to prove you can take care of me?” He shook his head, “Sherlock that’s ridiculous. You can’t look at it that way. It is too controlled. And I don’t need taken care of now.”

“Regardless, there are certain things I will be able to do to show I am fully capable of tending to your needs should something happen.”

“Oh dear Lord, you have that look.” John groaned. That look meant an impossible wall, filled with nothing but headaches. “Ok, ok. You can do whatever you want…though there is nothing you need to do to take care of me. I can handle myself when I’m not injured and I’m pretty good at it when I am. But,” he held up his hand when he saw Sherlock open his mouth, “if this is something you need to get out of your system, just go for it. You’re going to do it regardless. At least this time I’m aware of it.”

Sherlock huffed and nodded. “Good. Now go make tea. I’m going to think.” He lounged back on the couch and pressed his fingers to his lips, regressing deep within his head to plan.

John tried not to snort in laughter as he went on and did as told.


	2. Of Lists and Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a list of his good points. They fall a bit short.

“John, John. John!” 

John was startled awake and his survival instincts roared to life once his situation was understood. His body was pinned and the dark room made the looming shadow appear frightful and dangerous. He tried to find his gun or start thrashing when long fingers pressed against his shoulders and he relaxed instantly.

“Sherlock,” he yawned, blinking up at the man groggily. “Told you, don’t do that.”

“Nothing happened.” The taller man said. “I removed your gun before I woke you.”

“Not the point.” John yawned again, the adrenaline leaving his system and he tried to curl back up into his bed, but it strangely felt too heavy to do so. “What is it? A case?” 

“No, the murders are coming in slow.” Sherlock sneered.

“Bit,” John gave a tired sigh and rubbed his eyes. “Not good. Don’t pray for murders Sherlock.”

“I do not pray for murders.” He sniffed and then poked John’s cheek, watching those blue eyes close. “Stay awake.”

“I am, I am.” John lied as he snuggled into the pillow. “So no case. What is the problem that could not wait till,” he peeked at the clock and assumed his blurry sight was reading correctly, “a few hours after three?”

Sherlock shifted on top of him, well now John knew why he felt heavy, and stared down with his glowing cat-like eyes. “This is why sleep is ridiculous, John. Your brain is out of sorts. I told you I was going to take care of you. Do you remember, now?”

“Mhm-hmm,” John hummed, about to tune the man out.

Sherlock did not allow this and snapped his fingers at John’s ear.

“Awake!” John groaned. “I’m awake.”

“Good. Now,” he placed sheets of paper on top of John’s body, keeping them in a neat order. “I’ve been researching—stop giggling, you’re interrupting everything.” He cleared his throat and remained on his comfy spot with his butt on John’s belly. “Now, I’ve been researching about caretaking and looking over my past research on relationships. God John, it was boring. How do people live in such a boring commitment?”

John scratched his cheek before he gave a sleepy pat to Sherlock’s knee. “To each his own. Everyone has their own version of happiness.”

“They’re as dull as Lestrade’s book collection.”

“I won’t even ask how you know his book collection, so go on.” John looked up at the man, hoping this won’t take hours, but it would most assuredly take hours, to get this lecture over with.

“I’ve compiled notes and lists on how to prove to you that I am a capable caretaker and that you should go and change that document.”

“Sherlock,” John sighed, trying to find his patience deep within his sleepy body. “Even if I read all your notes now, decide you were right, and want to go and change it…I wouldn’t be able to do so until they open.”

Sherlock huffed, “I know that.”

‘He forgot about that.’ John thought to himself, an amused smile on his face. Sometimes that “one thing” that Sherlock overlooked could be very entertaining and obvious to others. It actually made the insufferable arse adorable.

“You could always call Mycroft…” Sherlock, ever so subtly, hinted.

“Then let me refrain; even if I read all your notes now, decide you were right, and want to go and change it…I would NOT wake up the British government, who would make both of our lives aggravating for months to come, to alter it. Now shoo,” John turned over to his side, smirking when Sherlock nearly fell off.

“John! I have not given you my notes yet.”

“You covered my body with them. I’ll read them tomorrow.”

“It already is tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll read them in the morning.” John was ready to start drooling, he was so warm and comfy that dealing with Sherlock had no appeal at the moment.

“It is the morning.” He continued just to be an unreasonable, no longer adorable, arse.

“Then I will read them at a reasonable time for myself AFTER I’ve rendered you unconscious by smothering you with a pillow. Good night Sherlock.” He buried himself under the covers. Just because his boyfriend had such an aversion to sleep does not mean John does as well. He loved sleep, thank you very much.

“Point one: I am intelligent and know, or can easily learn, life-saving techniques from yourself or any book.” Sherlock started. “Example one: should you go into epileptic-shock, I have thirteen life-saving actions memorized to ensure you do not die.”

“Not allergic to anything Sherlock.” John groaned. 

“Example two: because of your need to eat at least three times a day, should you ever choke I know of five ways to ensure you do not die.”

“Yes, thank you. I get it.” 

“Example three: I now know how to remove a blade from a living body. Now, that was a fascinating bit throughout this whole nonsense.”

“Oh god, strike him down.” John prayed as he slowly realized he truly was going to have to murder his boyfriend to get some sleep.

“Mature.” Sherlock said, “but I see you get my point. I have hundreds of life-saving techniques saved within my mind-palace. Even if you simply fell down the stairs, again, I can care for you.”

John rolled his eyes. “Ok, it was dark, I hadn’t slept in three days, I hadn’t had a meal that whole day…let the falling down the stairs episode go. And I always knew you could save my life. And I live with you, I, sadly, know how intelligent you are. Now go away.”

“I suppose the main point of your ridiculous action was the after the life had been saved. So I shall skip the rest of the examples for this point.”

“Ta for that.” John sighed. “And why not put the other points on hold till after seven, once I shower, and have some coffee? You know, a normal, healthy time?”

“Nonsense. It is better to get this taken care of as soon as possible so that you can confess your mistake and change it.”

“I swear I am going to kill you.”

“Yes, yes, Soldier, bad-days, etc. Moving on,” Sherlock cleared his throat again and went back to his list. “Point two: Corresponding to my intelligence, I can provide the best care. Example one: I can draw a perfect bath with the correct amount of bubbles, for your ridiculous addiction to that. Example two: I know the pressure points throughout the human body and know how to massage expertly. Example three: I can play the best sooth--”

“Hold on. You knew how to do all of this and didn’t give them to me before?” John picked himself up and scowled. “What about the case three months ago concerning the zoo and afterwards I was so sore I couldn’t make it out of bed for the day? A hot bubble bath and an expert massage would’ve been much appreciated.”

“It wasn’t necessary at the time.”

And that would be the moment the ball dropped and the infamous Watson temper began its countdown.

“So…you’re only letting me know about this…because YOUR feelings were hurt?”

“My feelings were not hurt.” Sherlock sniffed, sounding insulted. “I just had been unaware of your obsessive need for proof of my affection and ability to look after you. Till this point.”

“Get your pale arse out of this room, or I swear, I will suffocate you unconscious and destroy that algae experiment you have growing in the freezer, along with all your notes.” John hissed, his fingers popping to do just that. “Then leave you naked out in the street just for the hell of it.”

“Fine.” Sherlock huffed back and gathered up his notes. He recognized that tone. John had the tone of promise and knew that he would follow through with the threat. And that experiment has been going on for three weeks; he did not want to lose it now. Nor did he care to be left out in the winter weather without clothing. Although, the possibilities of studying the effect it has on his skin does sound mildly fascinating…

“Once you’re done with your tantrum we will continue with the points.”

“OUT!” John roared and threw one of the pillows at him.

Foreseeing this, Sherlock quickly closed the door. “Really, John, there is no need to be so sensitive.”

“Now it will be the decomposing liver experiment,” John swore, his fist clenching the sheets tightly before he flopped back down, furious. ‘Bastard. Moronic, self-absorbed alpaca-headed, cock!’

All sleepiness left his fuming mind and no matter what side he turned to John could not find that comfortable dream-state he had formerly been in. Tomorrow was going to be brutal with so little sleep. 

He could see a soft glow coming from under the door and if he strained his ears he thought he could hear the scraping of pen against paper and fingers hitting the pad of a laptop.

Sherlock would be hunched over his work, looking serious and determined. Probably completely unaware, or simply didn’t care, what his now awake boyfriend was suffering through.

If it were just normal insomnia brought on by nightmares, John would get out of bed and crawl into Sherlock’s intense space for the rest of the night. But now…

“Like hell I’m going to go give him company.” He grumbled and curled up into his sheets. “He and his pretty face can rot in Hell.”

\--

Near seven, Sherlock lounged upon the couch; his limbs sprawled out as if he had no bones within his whole form. His research halted for now. He had enough evidence for John now.

Besides, he had a new problem to face.

‘Introducing my plan and positive points appears to have been a failure. John’s reaction was not exactly what I had hoped.’ 

In truth, Sherlock had naively hoped his boyfriend would see the error of his ways, change the document, and they then proceed to have enjoyable, early morning sex. But John had to get all sensitive because he didn’t get attention earlier.

Sherlock slumped, growing irritable. John was being all unreasonable and unfair. 

His toes wiggled and his tapped his fingers impatiently on the chair as he counted down the minutes till John would start the day. He had roughly twenty minutes till John awoke; another fourteen for him to shower and dress, and then three for him to make his way into the kitchen do prepare some hot tea.

Nearly forty minutes in total to come to conclusion about this unnecessary misery. 

Sherlock set an internal alarm to wake him in thirty-five minutes and regressed into the depths of his palace to figure out the mystery that was his John Watson’s tantrum.

___‘He was upset about facts coming in roughly three months too late. Unimportant facts that did nothing for his safety or the case in question. It changes nothing now. Why get so bothered by it? Look at facts. Possibility One: John was disappointed he found out a new talent of mine without any sort of romantic connection. PLAUSIBLE. Possibility Two: John is a sensitive sort—FACT—and he might be embarrassed that he has done something as foolish as changing his will. He is reacting to his embarrassment like he normally does, through his anger. PLAUSIBLE. Possibility three: John was warned me of waking him for something other than an emergency—FACT—and this may not constitute as emergency. Ridiculous but I’ve accepted he is a bit slow. PLAUSIBLE.’_

Those three possibilities made the most sense. John was the emotional sort who was moved more by sentiment than reason and he had warned Sherlock multiple times to not interrupt his sleep.

“Ah,” his eyes snapped open as his mind beeped at him he found a winner. He had it resolved with twelve minutes to spare. 

‘Well, that resolves that. Now, to get him to forgive me.’ He pouted. He didn’t want to apologize. Really, did he truly do anything wrong? 

“No.” Sherlock sneered, answering his own question.

“No to what?” John asked.

Sherlock looked up in surprise. He looked between his boyfriend and the door and the clock a few moments. John was rarely early. He was such a creature of habit. “Of course, you never went back to sleep after I left.”

John rolled his eyes, “yes, yes. Insert obvious observations here. And I did sleep a little. Just not as deep.” He gave the genius a heated glare. “Thank you for that.”

Apparently apologizing would be the only way out of this problem.

“Ahem,” Sherlock lamely tried to clear his throat to get a not-so-murderous attention upon him. “I realize this morning may have been…uhm…”

“Rude? Selfish? Bratty?” John assisted with a cutting tone.

“Inappropriate.” Sherlock finished, trying to ignore the words. “I should not have disturbed your sleep.”

John groaned, “Sherlock, that wasn’t what got me angry. I was annoyed, yes. But I’ve come to accept you have insomnia and sometimes you actually have to discuss things in order to calm yourself down even to meditate or play the violin. What I’m pissed about is how you deemed it unnecessary to tell me about ways you could comfort me when I actually needed it. You only saw it necessary to discuss when you thought it benefited you.”

Sherlock was silent a moment, his lips pulled down. So, John had been upset about the timing of the information, but not due to the fact it disturbed his sleep? What a miscalculation on his part. “That was not my intention.”

“I know it wasn’t!” John snapped but then bit his lip, trying to get his temper under control. “And that is part of the problem. With me, usually, you’re not nasty with any sort of intent. Using those talents three months ago probably didn’t even cross your mind, correct?”

Sherlock slowly nodded. It had been a fascinating case concerning the smuggling of endangered species by a zookeeper. He had felt so inspired by the case he had to dive head first into researching more about animal behaviors and patters incase another animal-related case happened. He had his nose buried in zoology books for four days afterwards.

“See?” John said, exasperated. “That right. That is why I’m doing this. You didn’t do anything against me personally. You weren’t trying to hurt me. And even if you were aware I was in so much pain, it didn’t click within your head to take care of me. True, this caretaking business would deal with an injury far more severe than a bruised chest and sore legs. But, it’s all these small instances that show that you couldn’t bring yourself away from your Work.”

“No, that isn’t fair John. You know I put you before everything, right? I would never leave you to suffer.”

Sherlock could feel himself starting to panic. What if John continued to believe this? What if John grew tired of sharing Sherlock with the Work and really did leave? He couldn’t leave him…there would be no Sherlock left in the world without John.

“You can’t.” John said, but in a comforting tone. “You grow focused on one thing and that one thing consumes you. And from what I have seen, it always has to do with a case. Because that’s what makes you happiest.”

“John,” Sherlock’s throat closed up. Sherlock didn’t know how to handle sentiment. He didn’t know how to handle what John was presenting him. “No, I really can. I promise you I can.”

“Hey,” instantly John’s martyr syndrome kicked in and he felt the need to take the role as the villain. “I already said I’m not leaving you over this. I already said I accepted it. I want to make sure you’re taken care of and this isn’t ruined for you.”

Sherlock shook his head. “John, that…” he cleared his throat, trying to maintain some dignity. There was no need to panic. John was the one incorrect. Sherlock knew he could provide for John, that he did provide for John. “That was one case. You can’t hold it against me.”

John’s expression stopped him from continuing with his defense.

___‘He’s smiling. It’s not happy. The memories from yesterday are returning. RIGHT. He has more examples. More times I’ve left him to fend for himself. All of them shown…RIGHT. The bookkeeper-case from eight months ago left him with a sprained ankle; he still went out and got groceries two days later. The fraudulent case with the Pomeranian, he caught a cold three days before and still went. Had him stay to fill out paperwork with Lestrade.’_

Something constricted in Sherlock as he watched the each of these events pass by his mind.

 _ __‘The soda-murderer four months ago, he had to get his stomach pumped from ingesting some of the poison. Still cooked us dinner the following night. Numerous cases involving multiple nights without sleep; still went to work and kept me entertained.’_

The room was spinning and it felt like his head was lifting off from his shoulders. One memory after another assaulted his mind and he had no idea how to stop them.

“Sherlock? Sherlock!” John rushed to his side, recognizing the glazed look. “Come back, come on back to me, ok?”

___‘John was hurt? I hurt my John? I ignored him? But I notice everything…I always observe. And he is the most important. I told him so. The Work isn’t first. It can’t be first. It isn’t first. It isn’t. It isn’t. Facts Sherlock. Where are the facts. Find the facts. You spent all night writing up evidence to prove your ability to John. You must have an example of where you have already provided for him.’_

“Sherlock! Come on, you’re freaking me out. You’re not going to lose yourself in there! Come back out!”

Sherlock could vaguely hear John, but his warm voice was smothered by the screams of his mind. Memories kept flashing through his brain and electrocuting his spine and stomach.

___‘I fell for him…The Fall…his face. I left him. I hurt him. It was for him though. I came back and apologized. Everything is ok. I made it ok. I’m a good boyfriend. I’m a good person. I did it for him. I made it up to him. It was all for him. Facts, find the facts. John’s face was crushed. He cried when he was alone and had an empty smile in front of everyone else. I did that to him. Find the FACTS. When did I take care of him? When did I make him happy? Where are the bloody FACTS?!’_

“Sherlock!” John quickly backhanded him with as little force as he could manage. He then pinched Sherlock’s cheeks and pulled and twisted them, doing his best to snap the man out of his stupor. “Idiot, you had better wake up NOW or I will snap a bone in your finger!”

And this was a promise John was going to keep if it meant getting Sherlock out of his own mind.

“SHERLOCK!” He raised his voice higher, his fingers grasping one of Sherlock’s own.

But then his body shifted and relaxed slightly. Sherlock looked around a moment, returning to reality.

“John…” Sherlock blinked at him. He then cupped his own face with a scowl. “My face hurts.”

“Good. I hope it bruises black and purple.” John grumbled. “You scared me there…you had a very upsetting look on your face and I couldn’t reach you.” He flopped to his knees weakly. “It wasn’t like you were in your mind palace.”

“No…ah, no, no.” He shook his head, looking down at his lap. “Not really.” This was why he avoided sentiment. His mind tended to simultaneously shutdown and become overwhelmed. 

“It reminded me a bit of when I told you my feelings.” John laughed weakly, taking a moment to look over his shoulder at the kitchen. It had been amusing, though scary. He had sat down at the table, Sherlock wanting to stand in his robe impatient to get back to his experiment, when he told him. 

Sherlock had stared at him stone-faced, blinking, for about seven minutes.

It later turns out he had been responding back within his head the whole time, unaware his brain had completely disconnected with his mouth.

“It didn’t feel like that.” Sherlock confessed. That moment, though terrifying and was a moment where he lost control over his mind, was happy. This moment, on the other hand, was not.

John frowned, “I’m sorry that made you shut-down like that.”

Sherlock couldn’t think of words to say. He was still trying to absorb the fact that there were no facts within his mind palace to support his defense against John’s actions and thoughts. It was making his head ache and his stomach tremble.

Was this something he apologized for? Sherlock wasn’t good at apologies or their situations. 

Could this be something that words could even fix? 

He could feel the rush of nothing-noise building again and he had no idea what to do to stop it.

“Hey, none of that.” John warned, reading Sherlock’s expression. “Come on, stay with me and let’s talk about this.”

Sherlock didn’t want to talk. At least, he didn’t think he wanted to. He was very unsure what he wanted to do. He just wanted all of this to go away and to live in the world where he was confident he was the best boyfriend given to this earth.

John watched Sherlock’s face, sensing a battle raging on. A distraction was desperately needed.

“Here,” John smiled and held out his hand. “Let me see this infamous list you are so proud of.”

Sherlock weakly held it out to him, no longer feeling as proud about it as he had been earlier on.

“Let’s see.” John curled up next to him, placing his head on his shoulder as he read it over. He started to chuckle after the first five. “You certainly have no qualms in praising yourself.”

Sherlock pulled his knees to his face. He certainly had qualms about it now.

“Point seven: connections with wealth and/or can find means to obtain wealth for care. Did you just confess you could get money illegally?” John raised a brow and looked up at him. “You wouldn’t rob a bank.”

“No.” Sherlock muttered. “I would just get the funds through Mycroft.”

John laughed, “of course you would rob your brother. Let’s just cross that part off. I wouldn’t want stolen money used for myself.”

“Hmph. Any money is good money for you.”

More giggling came out of the older man. “That’s touching, truly touching. But, really, no.” He continued to read. “Point twelve: I’m made out to be controlling so I will be perfect in controlling important factors concerning exercise, sleep, and diet.” John turned and stared up at him once more. “You’re taking my calling you a control freak as a compliment?”

“How could it not be considered a compliment? Having an individual like myself with control over a situation ensures a higher rate of success. If you leave yourself under my control your chances of healing raise exponentially.”

John smiled, there was that ridiculous vanity. “You mean you will give me a better chance of survival better than a hospital?”

“Doctors are idiots.”

“Excuse me?”

“Most doctors are idiots.”

“That’s better.” He continued to read through, laughing at the different points. “Point eighteen: I’ll allow you to watch ‘crap telly’ with only the minimum amount of complaints.” John’s shoulders shook. “Sherlock, you really don’t have the power to allow or disallow me to watch TV. And what on earth is the minimum amount for you?”

“Seventeen in one sitting.”

John snorted over his giggles. “Of course that is a reasonable number for you.” He shook his head and organized the papers together. “This is something you really want to try, huh?”

Sherlock solemnly nodded.

“Alright, stop giving me the puppy eyes.” John shook his head, very amused. “Ok. How about this, we work together; we can simulate a situation where I get hurt and can’t do too much. You do what feels right and I make notes on the positives and negatives. We can talk about it afterwards and go from there.”

Sherlock tilted his head, digesting the proposal. “An experiment.”

“Yes.”

“And you say you don’t know how to speak romantically to me.”

John laughed, “guess I can do more than I let on. So, sounds like a plan?”

“Yes.” Sherlock smiled again. “We’ll start once you get back from work. Now, if you will excuse me, John, I do believe I have things to research.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll say, getting Sherlock's mind-palace thoughts in italics is ridiculously hard for this technological-ill-witted-fool. So if it is ever noticed I miss a section that should be done that way, it is not for the lack of trying.


	3. His [Not So] Little Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock starts his experiment. Already, he is meeting some difficulties.

Sherlock was impatient for John to arrive home. 

His fingers twitched in excitement as he looked around the flat. Everything was perfect. He would make up for previous overlooks concerning the situation and prove to the world that he could take care of John Hamish Watson.

Sherlock tilted his head as he studied the living room and swiftly moved the couch twenty-eight degrees to the left. There, that slight tilt would make all the difference for John if he wanted to watch the telly but couldn’t sit up.

And if the injury was grave enough, he was positive that John wouldn’t be able to move from a laying position. Possibly would be stuck in their room. Perhaps he should look into the possibility of moving the TV within their bedroom.

‘I’ll do that later.’ He thought to himself.

“Pillows.” He noted before he scowled. He needed to ensure there would be plenty of pillows within their home to support John’s body. 

_‘John loves comfy, simple things. He would simply appreciate pillows, the telly, and tea…right? But he would be gravely injured and the argument stands that I cannot provide adequate care. Simple things wouldn’t be enough. RIGHT. It shouldn’t be enough. John deserves the best. I am his boyfriend and will be his caregiver again.’_

Sherlock paced around, gripping a pillow in each hand. His nails dug deep into the fabric.

_‘I will be the best at this. I will do everything perfectly. If I could, I would have it that he would never have to move or work again if that’s what he wanted. Ridiculous sentiment though, as sentiment typically is. John enjoys moving and cases. But he would appreciate the thought, yes? Of course. He is the sort that appreciates sentiment. Point in case why I am doing what I’m doing.’_

His mind was swarming, panic in the background. But Sherlock kept it at bay. As long as he had some control over his thoughts he would be fine. This was his experiment. It was his chance to show he was as great as he claims he is.

_‘John will be home in approximately twenty-four minutes. The moment he comes in he will be considered injured. I need to meet him at the door. If he was injured he couldn’t climb the stairs. He would depend on me for everything. I need to make things easy for him. It must be perfect. Perfect…perfect. How to make it perfect?’_

His eyes scanned the room, his mind palace in overdrive.

All of John’s favorite DVDs (a compilation of James Bond and old Disney) were next to the DVD player. Sherlock was even prepared to watch some of ridiculousness if it would comfort the man. John’s blankets and pillows were all prepared and Sherlock already ordered some of John’s favorite Thai for dinner. Their bed had clean sheets and a plate of biscuits was in the kitchen (thanks to Mrs. Hudson).

It felt ready enough. 

But what if it wasn’t?

Sherlock chewed his lip as he paced around. He tended to overlook one thing, one crucial thing. And he couldn’t do that when it concerned John.

‘An experiment. It is just an experiment.’ He had to remind himself, taking a few breaths. He could get another chance if this didn’t go well. This was only the first of perhaps a few. He couldn’t let sentiment cloud his judgment and ruin this experiment. This was concerning John’s health. He couldn’t let sentiment take part of this.

‘Breathe. Remember you must breathe.’ John’s voice rang in his head. It soothed him down. It was almost as good as having John’s hands rubbing his back (not as good of course).

‘Yes, John, breathe. I need to breathe.’ He inhaled and exhaled, coming back to himself. This should be his element. He was in an experiment. Just because it was John should not make him flustered. In fact, it should push him to working the hardest level he could possibly reach.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the schedule for the day. He could see it all in great detail. Picture where he will have John at what time. What time he will feed the man and what time he will ensure he goes to bed. It was clinical but Sherlock knew it would work.

All he needed now was his patient.

Which quite possibly was approaching the flat if his senses were truthful (really, Lestrade was so juvenile to call them a ‘John sense’ and even quoted some sort of ridiculous man who was also an arachnid. The sheer stupidity and ridiculousness of the common men never ceased to astound him).

His head snapped up and his body went alert. His senses were right.

John was home.

Sherlock quickly removed himself from the room and rushed towards the entrance. He hurried down the stairs as he heard the key twist in the lock. He would be the first thing his John, injured from the hospital, would see. 

‘Overlooking that ridiculous notion. Obviously I would be because I would take him home from the hospital. Who would let John come home on his own?’ Perhaps he should’ve picked John up from work, pretending it was the hospital. Or better yet, overlooking the childish concept of pretending just meet him at St. Bart’s.

‘Too late now. Will file away for future exercises.’

The door opened up and John nearly jumped back. Possibly would’ve sent himself to the hospital and would’ve made the trial run the real thing.

“Jesus Sherlock,” he sighed as he rubbed his heart. He laughed a little in some embarrassment. “I wasn’t expecting you there. You on your way out?”

“You’re playing the fool John. Clearly I’m not. I am not dressed in any sort of acceptable social material.”

“Mhmm, supposed it would be weird, even for you, to go out in your pajamas.” John laughed. “But if it was for a good case…I wonder. Of course the Yard would have a field day.”

“Which would cease the moment I show evidence on how pitiful their intelligence is.” Sherlock then held out his arms.

John blinked and smiled. “What? You’re not one for hugs.”

“Don’t be stupid John. You are back home. The experiment has started.” He nodded to the stairs. “You are injured, just home from the hospital, and cannot climb the stairs.”

John smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ok, before we start, what are my injuries?”

Sherlock scowled. It wasn’t something he had wanted to think about. “I haven’t considered them.”

John laughed, not really believing that, “well, intense injuries can vary. What have you prepared for?”

Sherlock tried not to smile. It appeared John was taking this seriously and not just humoring. It was a reason why he loved him so much. Sherlock’s intense, and unusual, needs were taken under consideration. “Back injury.”

“Alright. So, I’m not paralyzed, but we’ll say a nerve has been nicked. Perhaps the bastard from the last case was lucky.” John leaned against the entrance. “Symptoms?”

“Intense back pain, difficult moving, possible difficulty breathing.” Sherlock looked thoughtful. “I’ll add in broken ribs.”

“Just to spice up the recipe?” John grinned.

“Keep that up and I’ll add in you bit your tongue and unable to talk.” Sherlock huffed.

“Now, you know you can’t get me to shut up unless you actually remove my tongue. Or piss me off.” John’s grin grew. “Which, at this moment, I doubt you want me to be pissed off at you.” He looked down at his feet. “I take it the moment I pass over the threshold I’m completely into the experiment and in your control?”

“As bargained. You don’t tell me anything. I do everything on my own and you tell me afterwards.”

“And we do this for one evening?”

Sherlock sneered, “of course not. We are going until I verify I am ready to hear your own notes.”

“So, when control is mentioned, it means complete and total.” John rolled his eyes.

“Of course.” Sherlock said. “Now, are we going to start?”

“Of course your majesty.” The blonde snorted. He paused for one moment, as if readying himself for what he signed up for, and then stepped inside. The door was slammed behind him and then John was picked up like the princess he was. “S-Sherlock!”

“What?” Sherlock tilted a brow as he carefully went up the stairs.

“Do you really need to carry me like this?” John groaned. “I get called your damsel enough.”

Sherlock smirked (and good lord, John could NOT deny it was sexy as all get out that the tall man could carry him so easily) before he made it to the top. “Well at least you’ve moved down here where you belong, less stairs to carry your fat arse up.”

John gave the man an unimpressed look. “Romantic. And I thought I lost three pounds.”

“Still pudgy.” Sherlock placed John tenderly on the couch, much to the blonde’s surprise. “But I must have, oh what is it called, chubby fetish.”

John knew no matter how injured he was he would give Sherlock hell for that comment and pinched the man’s thigh too hard to be seductive. “I’m not chubby. I am still pretty fit for my age.”

“Ow,” Sherlock hissed and slapped his hand away. “You’re squishy.”

“Not everyone can be fit like you. You know, born from the womb with a body like Adonis.” John allowed himself to be pushed back to the pillows.

“Shouldn’t you be wheezing and begging for my love and adoration? You have broken ribs.”

“Not everyone can be an actor like you.” John grinned. “But ok, ok. Ow, Sherlock, ow. The pain, it burns. I can see the light. The only thing to save me is your gorgeous, obnoxious face.”

“Close enough.” Sherlock looked at his subject/boyfriend and nodded. “You’re comfortable.”

“Typically that would be formed as a question. But yes, I am.” He snuggled into the couch to prove his point. “But you know, I should remove my coat.”

Sherlock stared at him a moment then shook his head. “Not yet. I’ll get you comfortable pajamas and then get you in a bath.”

John tilted a brow. “Well…I know I’m not supposed to get a bath after being injured in such a way, but, hell, I’ll take it.”

“I suppose I could go completely realistic.”

“Nope. Too late. I want a bath. I am not getting a sponge bath unless it’s truly unavoidable. I’ll just put down in my notes you were at least aware of what was necessary.”

Sherlock nodded, trying so hard not to smirk. This was serious business. He knew if John were truly hurt a smile would be impossible. John and his stupid smart-ass-comments were ruining the necessary mood.

“And honestly, those things aren’t as sexy as they’re made out to be.” John continued, lounging. “It’s awkward. A bubble bath? Now that’s sexy as hell.”

Now Sherlock couldn’t stop the grin. “I get your point. Shut up.”

“Good.” John smiled as his head flopped back on the couch. “You know I am taking this seriously.”

“You’re making me laugh.”

“And I would do that regardless of what position I’m in.” John smiled warmly, and the whole room filled with sunshine for Sherlock. “But we have too many dark days and close calls. I don’t want to fill up a good day with solemn expressions. I enjoy laughing with you more than sharing sour looks. So you better believe I am going to try and make you smile at any opportunity I can.”

Sherlock hummed to himself and looked away. “I’m going to get your pajamas.”

“Alright, alright.” He snuggled under his blanket and sighed.

Sherlock slipped into their room and pressed his forehead against the wall, letting off a shaky breath. “No fair…I’m supposed to take care of you.”

His knees felt weak. If he were a lesser person he would almost assume he was swooning. The selfless, sweet talk John continuously gives up leaves Sherlock without air in his lungs sometimes.

‘Sentiment.’ He warned himself, trying to steer clear of that. He was a scientist first. He needed to remain one throughout this experiment.

But, damn it all, the doctor just had to be all sweet and flirty.

It was making everything Sherlock had planned extremely difficult.

‘Get it under control.’ He sneered to himself as he fell back into his mind palace.

_‘Picture John in the situation. See him from the hospital. Weak, pale-face, face sagging, and wheezing. He’s on pain medication, leaving him weak and vulnerable. RIGHT. He would be high, knowing his intolerance to such items. That is not a turn-on. That should not be a turn-on. Bit not good is what he would say. RIGHT. John is hurt. His back would be wrapped and smelling of antiseptics. He would be unable to do anything.’_

Each little point helped build the image within his mind, and he found he hated the idea of his. Seeing John in the state both pained him and made him uncomfortably aroused. 

John was rarely, if ever, completely dependent on Sherlock. The idea that Sherlock would have such control over the man’s life really affected him in a way that would not be consider ethical.

It was a bother that he was also picturing John miserable and in pain that made his chest hurt and his eyes tighten.

‘Both aroused and broken. Quite emotionally compromised.’ Sherlock noted with some interest. ‘Of course wouldn’t be nearly as aroused in the real situation. It would severely diminish in the face of reality, though cannot conclude it would be completely out of the picture. Possible study in the future may be necessary.’

Straightening his back and moved into their bathroom and started the bath, preparing it for John. As promised, he knew exactly how to make it the best temperature to just turn John’s skin pink and have his muscles relaxed without burning. He also added lavender soap (really, John?) to get the bubbles foaming.

“It’s ready.”

John, still lounging on the couch, grinned. “Great. I’m looking forward to this.” He moved to get up, ready to get comfortable.

“Don’t move.” The brunette ordered, glaring at the smaller man. “Have you forgotten you’re wounded?”

“Right, right.” John tried so hard not to roll his eyes. 

“Now, I am going to bathe you.” Sherlock continued as he made his way over and then lifted the man up.

“Sherlock, really.” He groaned.

“I’ll bathe you.” Sherlock said again, his tone strong.

John sighed and held up his hands in surrender. “This is simply ridiculous.” But there was no heat in his tone as he lost the battle before it even began. “Let’s go take a bath then.”

Sherlock just looked smug.

\--

Sherlock was no longer quite as smug.

Really, for someone so intelligent, Sherlock really suffered from some powerful bouts of intense stupidity.

What was he thinking offering to bathe John? 

Sweet, flirty, sexily gorgeous John?

Who was lounging in the bath, enjoying the wonderful attention, letting out some erotic (and possibly illegal) noises as Sherlock gently scrubbed him.

‘Experiment. He’s injured. Remember; punctured back, agitated nerve, broken ribs, very delicate, gorgeous skin, lovely stomach…oh god no.’

They could NOT have sex right now. They wouldn’t be able to if John was really injured.

Oh but John just looked so delectable…

‘NO. This is an experiment. This is serious. And his skin looks so good.’ He moaned to himself as he began to rub John’s lower back. 

“U-Uhm,” John arched a little. “Y-You’re getting a bit low there.”

“I’m cleaning you.” Well, he had to clean everywhere after all. He still wasn’t going to do anything else to John. He simply couldn’t. He had to take his time and just make sure every single centimeter of the man was clean.

That’s all he was doing.

John meeped. “Sherlock…those are your fingers.”

“Yes?”

“And that is my arse.”

“Yes.”

“And that GAH!”

“Yes.”

“S-Sherlock! I thou-thought I-I was injured!”

“Yes. And I am cleaning you. Cleaning every place. And should you, perhaps, orgasm during the clean it is not my fault but your own for being ridiculously sensitive.”

And there was that sadistic, ‘I’m going to get my way, through science’ glint in those silver eyes.

John paled and knew there was no way he was going to get out of this bath for a while yet.

\--

John was flopped weakly on their bed, cleaned, in pajamas, and very sated. It couldn’t be denied he was relaxed and on the verge of passing out.

“Experiment went nicely. I already knew you get very comfortable after experiencing pleasure.” Sherlock watched John snuggle into the bed. His long fingers trailed up his spine, purring. “Quite a nice finding from just a simple bath.”

“Don’t you lie to me.” John muttered into the pillow. “I know very well what you were trying to do.”

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. “I may have discovered throughout our time together that you grow very relaxed and comfortable after orgasm. You are injured with inflamed muscles. Stressing would slow the healing process. This ensured you relaxed.”

“I wasn’t aware that pleasure like that was a key to healing.”

“Now your stupidity has been cured and you know. Congratulations, John, you’re an ounce less stupid than you were twenty minutes ago.”

“If I could move, I would strangle you.”

“Apparently you can’t move, so it seems I am safe for now.” Sherlock smirked as he tucked the man in. “Now you should rest. Within all the books I’ve studied, sleep is one of the best remedies for any sickness or injury.”

“That is a pretty different call from this morning. Where you called me out on sleeping and how it harms my thinking process.” John yawned as he snuggled into he bed. “Or something like that.”

“Something like that indeed. Really John. How can you be this slow? I’ve only stated it this morning.”

“Well a few things have happened that have left my brain a little muddled.” He opened one eye to give his boyfriend a stare. “Thanks to you.”

“Mhmm, I think I will take that as a compliment.” Sherlock finished his task and checked his watch. They were off schedule for a bit, but he could make that up when John awoke. “Sleep. Now.”

“Yes, you’re highness.”

“And do try to wake up within an hour and forty-five minutes. We’ll have Thai.”

“Don’t tell an injured person how long they can sleep.” John grumbled as Sherlock left the room.

“Don’t tell a genius how to do his job.” Sherlock retorted before he closed the door and left the man in comfortable darkness.

John smiled into the pillow. “Prat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling a little OOC, rushed, and too fluffy. But I love too fluffy stuff. So hopefully it will be excused!

**Author's Note:**

> First Sherlock-fandom fanfic and first fanfic here. Nothing much else to say, though I hope it is enjoyed!


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